


Do The Marcorena

by reynkout



Series: Retail Store Epics [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Doggy Style, GQ store, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Song references, Sorry guys, Spit As Lube, its another retail store fic, lap dance, macarena, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean works at GQ. Jean really likes Marco.</p><p>And Marco <i>really</i> likes the Macarena.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do The Marcorena

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, this one is finally out of my hair!
> 
> I was sweating beads about this one because I had to rewrite it several times before I was content with it... I'm not completely satisfied, but this will have to do for now.  
> This prompt is solely inspired by Los Del Rio's [Macarena](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiBYM6g8Tck) song, because it's super catchy and just plain amazing for its time. I don't know a lick of Spanish, so if I messed up on the lyrics somehow, blame the lyrics websites!  
> Guhh, there are so many song references in this; it makes me go crazy. Try to find all of them; they're mostly a bunch of old songs that my parents had playing in the car ever since I was a little thing. :P
> 
> Hope you buds won't hate me for this. Please give it a read.

“Uh…” Jean stalls as he stands behind the cashier of GQ.

It’s half past midnight, and all the shops are closed. Well, except for this one. Because of _course_ Marco wanted to meet him here, of all places. This is where he works. This is where he makes sales and compliments men and women alike so he can get them to buy cheaply made, over-priced clothing. So he stands at the doorway, waiting for his freckled boyfriend to come running into his arms like a TV drama. Sort of.

Damn it, he thinks. What am he doing? Why isn’t he here already?

But he doesn’t get to have a monologue in his head like he always does; lo-and-behold, said boyfriend struts through the doorway in a confident manner. The heavy winter trenchcoat he’s wearing to keep himself from the 50 degree weather outside is a little much, but Marco doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it kind of gives him this detective aura. Kind of like… Jean doesn’t know, Sherlock Holmes? Marco waltzes up to the register, removing his sunglasses even though it’s almost _one in the morning_.

“Didn’t know you wore sunglasses at night,” Jean smirks.

“So I can, so I can keep track of the visions in my eyes,”

Jean snorts, running a hand through his blond hair. “Very funny, Corey Hart. Har, har, har.”

Marco rolls his eyes at his boyfriend, going around the cash register to plant a big smooch on his boyfriend’s lips. They hold each other close, soon kissing with both tongue and teeth. They devour each other, scraping off more than a few cheek cells in the process. Whatever. Marco breaks the kiss, eyes flitting downward for only a second. Jean quirks a brow.

“I got something to show,” Marco whispers, a blush crawling onto his face.

The blond moves on instinct to close shop. “Okay, just let me pull down the blind-thingies.”

He runs to the front entrance, closing it off from the public with the metal door that could possibly decapitate a guy. He turns around, only to freeze on the spot. Jean is crouched at the front of GQ with his jaw hanging open at the sight he sees. No. Fucking. Way. No. No, no, no nonono… Groan, yes. What he sees is incredible.

Marco has stripped his charcoal grey coat to reveal a scandalous outfit just for Jean. No one else. He’s got white parachute pants on that look like they were stolen from MC Hammer’s wardrobe or something. Marco’s torso is covered by a crop top, so purple fucking lavender that Jean could just _fuck_ that all night long. Oh, and that sounds amazing right about now. How about Jean goes through with his plan? But he doesn’t get to; Marco is too ready for this. He gazes at the blonde through his lashes, his eyes smoldering with lust and want… need. Jean can’t help but give an audible gulp.

The freckled man sticks a finger out, curling it toward himself. He licks his lower lip slowly, the unspoken words of ‘come hither’ in the air that’s beginning to turn thick with arousal. Jean walks to his boyfriend, cautious of every step he makes as he advances toward Marco. He’s going too slow because Marco starts to beckon him with his whole hand, not just his finger. The brunette slides onto the counter, sitting on the edge. He crosses his legs, waiting impatiently. Jean shrugs when Marco gives him a warning glare. He can’t help that he walks a little too slowly for the freckled man’s taste.

He gives a quick glance at the security cameras. Jean’s going to have to buy the tapes out to make sure they aren’t caught; Jean being potentially fired from his position.

“Get over here, you.” Marco growls, pulling Jean in by the hem of his shirt once he’s close enough.

“Already here, babe.” Jean talks back.

Marco gives him a mock-sneer. “Sit.” He points to the block that a mannequin is supposed to stand on. He pushes the blonde in that direction, hopping off the counter and getting to business.

The freckled man pulls out his brand new iPhone, unlocking it with the fingerprint recognition and placing it near Jean; it sits on the edge of a shelf filled with guys’ t-shirts. He then taps the screen, music starting to play. Jean swears he’s heard this song before, but can’t exactly put his finger on it. It sounds like the songs his mom used to listen to when she went clubbing years before he was born. Ugh, the memories she shared that scarred his brain forever… This better not suck.

Marco swings his hips to the beat, making a show out of it while prowling toward Jean. His boyfriend stares, slack-jawed. The freckled man grins devilishly, his teeth pulling at his lip. He wants to make the best out of the night they have together. They haven’t got much time left; Marco’s gonna be gone next week due to ghastly finals and all that junior college crap. Stupid GEs. Stupid him for not getting into a university and not taking the stupid SAT when everyone told him he should have. Stupid. Anyways. Back to his thing.

“ _Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena, que tu cuerpo es pa’ darle alegria cosa buena, dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena… Heyy Macarena!_ ” sings Marco.

He puts one arm out, moving what his mama gave him, then his other. He brings it behind his head, his other arm following shortly after. Finally, they go to his hips. Marco turns around, dipping his apple bottom as if there was a free-for-all chocolate fondue fountain right in front of him.

Hold it. Jean knows this song. He _knows_ this song. Is Marco serious? Really? Like, seriously? Are they really going to fuck to the _Macarena_?

Jean’s boyfriend’s eyes squint when he smiles, smiling wider and showing off his bright pearly whites to the blonde. Jean’s got this expression on his face that says he recognizes the lyrics and beat that Marco is currently dancing to. He looks bewildered, no, shaken. No, a little taken aback. Either way, the freckled man is about to change that.

Marco shakes his ass like he’s twerking, but twerking isn’t something he’s exactly good at. In fact, Jean is the twerker of the two. Everyone knows that. He shimmies all the way onto Jean’s lap, rolling his hips down onto the blonde’s bulge that’s beginning to get bigger and bigger in his denim jeans. Jean lets out a muffled groan. Marco likes giving him lap dances, and he never tires of them. Marco takes it another step further, grinding down with more force. He hooks his arms around Jean’s neck, leaning in for support. The blonde shudders, his chest flat against his boyfriend’s back. He can feel his heart jumping out of his rib cage.

His hands slide down Marco’s torso, feeling the smooth cashmere of the crop top, down to the silky tanned skin of his lover’s stomach and over his pelvic bones. He reaches underneath those white pants, skimming over underwear to Marco’s sturdy thighs. His fingers brush the inside of Marco’s thighs, and he jerks. A little gasp comes from his lips, but he doesn’t stop his administrations. He curls into himself when Jean slips his hand into his underwear; the blonde cups his balls.

“Aw, babe,” Jean’s voice was becoming a little husky. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

“Mm, not being shy,” Marco strains his neck so they can make out. Jean takes the chance to pull down Marco’s ridiculous parachute pants off of him and hopefully shuck the underwear with it. But he doesn’t, because as soon as the freckled man steps out of the pant legs, his hands snap to his undergarments. He’s not ready to take them off just yet.

Jean takes a good look at them. Oh Lord. “We don’t even carry that brand yet,”

Marco’s wearing Cristiano’s new line of CR7 men’s wear. It’s those boxer briefs that have two diagonal stripes of mint green color on the pelvic line that, in black and white, look as if they’re whitey-tighties, but with two bands of cloth stuck to the thighs. 

“Too bad,” Jean’s boyfriend smirks; a seductive smile completes his look. Then, he strips his underwear off. He kicks off his shoes, too. Soon he wears nothing but that lavender top, sitting and grinding in the blonde’s lap. “So,” he says, like he’s trying to strike up the beginning of a conversation.

Jean flips him around so they’re facing each other and Marco is on his feet. He gives the freckled man a little peck on the cheek before taking off his employee shirt and throwing it in the direction of the cash register. He stays sitting, his face in close range with Marco’s cock. He goes for it, nudging the side of it with his nose. He closes his whiskey colored eyes, inhaling the musky scent of his boyfriend. Jean lets out a hum, burying his face in those dark curls. Marco twitches, his muscles tensing up a bit. He digs his fingers into the blonde’s hair. It’s so soft. Jean must’ve recently conditioned it. His roots are slowly coming in, though.

“Should get it rebleached,” Jean mutters.

“Just cover the roots, it’ll be fine regardless.” Marco’s voice is soft. “Open up, Jean.” He thrusts his hips forward to hint at his growing erection.

Jean understands, guiding the man’s prick into his hot mouth. He sucks softly at first, then gets pretty cocky, taking more of Marco. He flicks his tongue left and right, then traces the sensitive underside. He earns a slight whimper from his boyfriend. The blonde pops off his dick, only to encase the head with his pink tongue. It swirls around, teasing at the slit more than once. He uses his front teeth to scrape against it a teeny weeny bit, and Marco _moans_. Oh man. The freckled man bucks his hips, but Jean stops him with a firm hold on his waist. He takes the time to bob his head, feeling Marco’s cock hit the back of his throat. He holds back his gag reflex, trying so hard not to choke; drool seeps from his cavern, slicking up Marco nice and good. The saliva dribbles all the way down to his sac, dripping onto the floor.

Marco shivers, “Jean, it’s good.”

Jean eases off, eyes a little blown even though Marco’s really the one who should have his pupils dilated from pleasure. Jean gropes himself, palming his own member. He wants to do it.

Marco bends down, unbuttoning and unzipping the blonde’s jeans. He bats his eyelashes at his boyfriend; they’re so long that they graze the top of his cheekbones. He frees Jean from his boxers, raising his eyebrows at him when he sees that Jean’s close to a full erection. Interesting.

Jean makes this spinning motion with his index finger at Marco, then pats his lap, snapping. Oh. _Ohhh_. Marco situates himself so he’s on the floor, ass up to the blonde. Calloused digits play over the dimple of his lower back, smoothing across the cleft to his lovely bud. It responds to Jean’s touch, just waiting to welcome those fingers of his. He probes at it like he’s tickling Marco in such an intimate area. Marco whines. He didn’t come here to be taunted by the blonde. Three digits go to his mouth, and he takes them willingly. He coats them thoroughly, thankful that he’s hydrated throughout the whole day even though drinking so many glasses of water makes him have to use the bathroom every two hours or so. More saliva. It’s totally worth it.

The fingers draw back to his ass, one of them pushing in; Jean’s excruciatingly cautious, as to not break the boyfriend. He pulls it halfway out, then shoves it back in, trying to get Marco used to some movement. But Marco rolls back onto the finger, yearning for more. Jean obliges, giving him a second finger. He twists them in the freckled man, scissoring him open. A guttural groan escapes from Marco, who does his best to hold his position. Soon, a third finger wiggles its way in, stretching him even more. He breathes heavily.

“Condom?” He gets the word out, but it almost sounds like he’s chewing on his tongue.

“Uh,” Jean takes his fingers away from Marco, reaching for his back pocket. He fumbles with his wallet for a few seconds before confirming that he has one, “Yep,” He opens it up, stroking himself a bit before rolling it on. Marco shifts away enough for Jean to get on his knees, planting his hands on the floor once more. There, his position is more secure that way.

Jean suddenly slides home, grunting. Marco gasps sharply, totally not ready for that. His left arm flies to Jean’s hip, telling him to wait a second. He just needs to control himself or he swears he might actually come from the intrusion. He’s that turned on. Jean laughs, like an asshole, but doesn’t do anything. He’s a good boyfriend, and waits for Marco to adjust. Not even a minute later, Marco ungulates, guiding himself back onto Jean. The blonde starts to thrust, pressing every inch of him to Marco. Marco is so warm; the heat just seeps into his body.

Jean goes from slow to faster, now leaving open-mouthed kisses along freckled shoulders. He bites down on the skin between the juncture of Marco’s neck and collarbone. The freckled man elicits a breathy moan, tilting his head back. He’s careful not to collide it with Jean’s forehead. Jean fucks him in short, perky motions. His dick is being squeezed so tightly by the tight muscle of Marco that it’s a little hard for him to glide. He needs more force.

“Harder,” Marco murmurs at first. When Jean doesn’t comply, he says it a little louder. And louder. And louder, until he’s screaming it in the air. “Harder! Jean, harder!” He needs it rough.

Jean finally comprehends Marco’s request, piledriving into him. He works up a sweat, gripping onto Marco’s waist for support. He’s almost all the way out of his boyfriend before he fills him up again. His cheeks are colored red, his chest heaving.

The rough rhythm puts a smile on Marco’s face as he hears the harsh slap of skin against skin. He can feel Jean. He moans, his arms doing something similar to push ups. He bounces back on the blonde, his face _burning_.

He makes this shrill yelp when his sweet spot is first hammered into. Jean’s finally found it; the brunette hangs his head, holding himself up on his elbows. His strength weakens as his boyfriend drills at his pleasure point, giving him only a nanosecond of a break before it’s hit again, making him go crazy. His extremities feel as if they’ve caught on fire. His skin sizzles in delight, his nerves popping like rock candy. There’s some pressure building up in his gut. He doesn’t know if he feels like he’s going to puke or come all over the fucking floor. All of these sensations are about to drive him up a wall. Marco doesn’t know which direction is left or right anymore, which one is forward or backward. And, quite frankly, he doesn’t even care. All he cares about right now is having his boyfriend ride the living daylights out of him.

The blonde moans, speeding up. He’s reaching Marco’s good place; he can tell. Marco starts to make these adorable noises when Jean has found his good place. He can’t help but cry out his lover’s name.

“Marcoo,”

“You mean,” Marco somehow still has enough brain power to talk. “Marco _rena_ ,”

Jean almost goes limp right then and there.

It takes a lot of strength to keep it together.

“What the _fuck_ , Marco,” He sticks out his tongue.

“ _-rena_ ,”

Well, if he insists… “Marcorenaa,” moans Jean.

Marco looks smug, but that’s washed away as soon as his prostate is slammed again. He’s almost there. He’s dying to come. His back arches, and he throws his head back, staring up at the ceiling. His muscles are crying out, telling him he needs to release. There’s no way he can deny it. He just _has_ to come.

“Mn,” The freckled man bites the insides of his lips in attempt to them together.

It doesn’t work, because he then barks out a ‘coming!’ before clenching up and just letting go. Marco spills his load all over the polished floor, the milky white substance also landing on his navel and, surprisingly, on his nice cashmere top as well. He sees stars, his hips on auto-drive as he keeps pushing himself onto Jean. Jean’s not too far behind. When Marco comes, his whole body goes taut, his muscles holding Jean like a coiled snake. It spasms, creating a beautiful sensation that can only be described as _Oh my, wow, fuck_. He fucks them both through his orgasm, his creamy juices caught in the protective latex. His spine is rigid, his posture straight. He clenches his teeth, groaning loudly.

Jean and Marco fall to their sides, catching their breaths. Marco shuts his eyes, the lights a little too bright right now. Jean nuzzles into the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly. He feels like staying in this position forever, spooning with his boyfriend. Well, the location could be better, but still.

Cutting the afterglow off short, he reluctantly pulls out, knotting the condom. He stands, walking to the cash register where he grabs a small bag and shoves the used condom into it. Marco sits up, trying to rub the come out of his crop top. It’s not working. He looks at Jean funny when he slips the condom into the GQ bag.

“What?” Jean asks. “I need to throw it away somewhere else. What if someone checked the trash and found it in _here_?” Marco shrugs. He guesses he’s right. “And, _Marcorena_? Really?”

“You not into that?” Marco hugs his knees.

Jean hunches over the counter. “I’m fine with it, Marco.”

“Good,” Marco seems to brighten up. “Cuz next time you can be my Billie-Jean,”

Jean has to slap himself in the face. He does. “But then I wouldn’t be your lover,”

“You can earn it, though. Like this,” Marco’s cheeky. The brunette stalks over to Jean, kissing him. They rub their noses together. Marco still doesn’t have any pants on. He lays his hand on Jean’s chest. “ _I can feel you breathe, I can feel your heart beat faster,_ ”

“ _Take me home tonight_..?” Jean half-sings, but at the same time he really is asking if he can go home with Marco. He hates to sleep alone.

“ _I don’t wanna let you go ‘til you see the light!_ ” Marco smiles.

He’s such a dork.

Jean can’t help but smile back at him.

 _His_ dork.

**Author's Note:**

> Hola, Señor Suave!
> 
> If you liked this short story, why not give it a kudo? Comments are even better (I love comments).
> 
>  
> 
> See you next time!


End file.
